


These Sunday Afternoons

by BusyBea18



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Married Barry Allen/Iris West, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:54:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29571360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BusyBea18/pseuds/BusyBea18
Summary: Married Barry and Iris spend an afternoon in bed promising to get up, but reliving their recent romantic past.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Iris West
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	These Sunday Afternoons

They were going to get up. Eventually. She laughed and the sound of her laughter was like the last time, the last Sunday afternoon when they lay together, rainy like this Sunday, which Iris liked. She liked the gray of a rainy Sunday afternoon. It felt more intimate, especially when Barry rustles her up in his arms, then they’ll lie quietly and each enjoying the raindrops hitting their bank of windows facing their bed, the rain trickling down in these little glorious trails that make him trail his mouth on her neck, leaving a row of his kisses.

Her mouth was near his throat. She gently kissed it, and she asked, “What do you want for brunch? We missed breakfast.” The laughter had come before the question because they both knew the answer, the answer to so many Sunday afternoons. Barry said, “How about lunch? Brunch’s not looking too do-able.” And he smiled, listening to her sweet little giggle, but she said, trying to sound serious, like she meant it, “No, really, Bear. If I say the words, it’ll come true.”

He knew what she meant. “Okay say the words.”

“Melon slices, croissants, bacon, scrambled eggs, Jitters Coffee—”

He says, “Dark roast?” He might as well ask for the best, since they knew they weren’t about to untangle their legs, or pull back the covers, or just stop existing in this place where Barry made time stop for Iris without being the Flash, and Iris made his heart race without any meta-powers, with just her warm and curvy caresses, her legs sliding up and down his. Then he moves over her as she lies on her back, ready and wanting to receive him. He’s on top of her, and he nudges open her legs with his; he’s between her legs, and she feels the hard fitness of him. She doesn’t wrap her legs around him as she would do, but lay spread eagle, back arched up, one arm around his back, the other at his shoulder, her hand trailing up the nape of his neck. She gently grabs his hair. Then her fingers run through it while her hips slowly move to his dance. She feels his breath on her neck, from warm to hot, from quiet to more insistent. They pause for a moment and she whispered, “You were supposed to show me STAR Labs today.”

He said, “I will, when we get up.” Then they both laughed, and she hit his arm like she likes to do sometimes, in her faux scold. “Yeah,” she says, “When we get up.” And suddenly his mouth is on hers, putting out their laughter, and he is in her, and their bedroom is quiet and her hips resume, continue to answer his. It wasn’t, but it was as if this slow grind was their first time that morning. He paused. “Condom.” They have had close calls before. He reached on the table, and freed the condom from the wrapper. He doesn’t want Iris to worry that she may be pregnant before her period comes. He has done that before, even as she said, “Barry, if we have a baby now, then it’s time for us to be mommy and daddy.” And he knew she wanted to be mommy, just not yet. Picture News wanted her, valued her. And finally, she was making a good name for herself. So, he brought the condom to the bed, brought it between what was private between him and her, what was fun, what was serious, and rolled the prophylactic onto his erection. Then he slipped it in her, slowly. She moaned to his sheathed hard presence, to a Sunday afternoon of sex with Barry, of his arms, of his long legs trapping her and holding her in this heated dance that they do, of their mattress singing as their hips move on it, of mostly he leads and she follows, like now, he moves and her head taps the headboard, she moving with his thrusts, staying with his pelvis as it takes Barry in and out of her, his pelvic force making her feel all of him. She braced herself and brought her hands back to the headboard, but her head got into a rhythm against it and she let her head ride it out. Her hands abandoned the headboard for his back. He was electric and her hands traveled up and down him, wanting his heat, wanting his charge, then stopped to hold him, to feel his movements, his entire body on her, in her, arms around her. She feels engulfed, beautifully. And she keeps up. She adjusted her spread eagle and brought her legs around his, her feet riding the back of his legs. She is kissing at his throat. She feels the side of his face burrowing into her neck, then her shoulder, as she feels the grind of his hips, as it gains a pace that she knows and understands and loves, and her eyes stay closed, feeling the whole of him and he says, “Iris… oh Iris.” And his pace quickens and she is hot all over hearing those words, and feeling the quickening in his pace. In his sex, he loves her. She loves him too, and begins to whimper to this fact, to his confession of how he loves her by the way he moved his hips, loving every inch of her body, she sensitive to his love. Her whimpers get stronger and she’s crying, eyelashes fluttering, a sign, lips parted in her surrender of her coming, and as usual, he hears her come, and he feels her fluttering eyelashes against his neck this time, making him take his pace to a strong staccato and then he comes. They lay quiet and still and gradually came down from their high. Their limbs are still entwined. They can hear each other’s breathing afterwards, forever wanting each other. Then he says out in their quieted bedroom, the headboard stilled, the mattress had stopped singing and the rain could now be heard again, against their bank of windows, he says, “I made you come.”

“No, I made _you_ come.”

They made each other come.

Barry is careful as he eventually pulls out of Iris, and removes the condom from his penis, then ties a gentle knot at the end, and gently placed it in the little waste basket underneath the table. In the eleventh grade, when Becky Cooper took his virginity on her parents’ sofa, he instinctively tied the condom that way, and avoiding Becky’s eyes, he said, “Where do I put this?” She had a tissue and she wrapped it in the tissue and slid it under the sofa, and said, “I’ll throw it away later,” and wanted him to kiss her and say that he felt good in her because she felt good having him in her. And he said, “We have to throw that away.” She sighed and her hand went under the sofa, and he could tell that she was mad or frustrated at his less than romantic moment as she marched to the kitchen and threw it in the trash. He couldn’t help but follow her because the condom was full of who he was. And who was he? He was now a less than innocent kid wanting to come in a soft body. And all of that time he had envisioned, hoped that it would be Iris’s soft body, Iris’s warm, sweet, innocent privates that he wanted to push through, that he wanted to penetrate. And he had had a few opportunities but feared betraying Joe, because he did love him and wanted to keep his trust. And he loved Iris, which is why, the next time he had her on the floor, or against the wall, he might pull down his sweats and have her take off her panties. He knew he could talk her into it because she wanted him to do it. But his feelings for her prevented him from doing a lot of things with her. Eventually though, in the eleventh grade, he got better at it with Becky. And Becky liked him and was kind of a sweet girl herself. Sometimes she was even fun. She was sweet, fun, and okay.

Barry yawns. He is still holding Iris. They had fallen asleep, missed high noon, the day rolling through to the end of this Sunday afternoon. He kissed her forehead and gently brushed back her hair, her heavy curls damp with her sweat and his. He was still looking at her softly, recalling their days at the cabin, where he made her his, where he took her back from Eddie. Of her two husbands, he would be the only husband she would have; the only husband she would ever sleep with. She opened her eyes, and smiled and asked him, “What are you thinking?”

“About the cabin,” he answered, and watched her big happy grin. “Barry, that was so much fun. You were so much fun. And other stuff.” She was embarrassed, so she giggled, but he just watched her. “And other stuff,” he said. She said, eyes still on him, “Yes. Other good stuff.”

At the cabin, she loved it during the time of early morning, when the dawn tried to break into day. Then she would close her eyes knowing that she was with Barry. And something had happened between her and this man in his bed. It was something totally new. It was something that Eddie forgot to do, or didn’t think to do, or didn’t want to do with her. At the cabin, for the first time, she played in a man’s hair. Because it was playing, it felt good. She played in Barry’s hair, arched her back, and closed her eyes to his lips between her thighs, on her sweet spot, her labia, his tongue playing with, licking her vulva. The lips felt swollen, tingly, on fire. She moved her ass as Barry’s tongue played. Was it forever? Because, please, God, don’t stop. But God had nothing to do with it. It was Barry. And he didn’t stop, so she succumbed sweetly, until then he slowly raised his head, his green eyes full of sex, penetrating her also. She must have looked so surprised, so startled by his face between her soft inner thighs, his tongue playing with her clitoris until she cried. Moments later a knowing grin as he slowly moved to lie beside her. She felt two fingers like a sweet invasion, where his tongue had been. Now, how did he know she would almost come again with just his fingers? She heard in the dark, “So wet.” When he lay beside her again, she just started kissing his face. She wanted to say, “Thank you.” Instead, she kissed his face. Then she found his mouth, and they played this series of open mouth kisses, warm lips pulling apart, coming together, tips of tongues touching, playing hide and seek, then move away, their lips pressed together, sweet, sexual. Always feeling in their touch ‘I love you, I want you,’ until they tired. Yes, she loved being at the cabin with him.

About an hour later, Iris sat up and looked for Barry’s shirt. On these Sunday afternoons, it was her ritual—to take off her baby doll lingerie at night, and to put on his shirt in the morning. To smell who he was in his simple cotton shirts, clean and uncomplicated like his shaving creams, or his soaps. His lotions smelled like vanilla, and when he rubbed it into his body, she would bury her face in his shirts, enjoying his good, warm, uncomplicated vanilla scent. Barry was delicious. She reached for his shirt and slipped it on. She got out of the bed and he raised his head. She started out of the room, but turned and said, “I’ve got to go pee.” And she heads for the bathroom. He watched her. She pulls back her mass of curls, her hair springing free when she releases it. It’s her hair, his shirt and her legs walking across their bedroom that catch him in his throat. Then she closes the bathroom door. He lies there waiting for her and looking out of the window. The rain has stopped and the gray has turned into a mild and milky white sky. Their loft is at the top of the building as if the sky belonged to them, the sun they owned, the stars and the heavens were theirs and theirs alone. The bathroom door swung open and Iris made her way back to the bed, plopped on it and sat up, her legs crossed, she still wearing Barry’s shirt. He looked at her. He said, “You’re not getting back under the covers?” She said, “Barry….” He knew what that meant, so slowly he rolled over and his hands went to the floor for his shorts. When he pulled back the sheets and sat up, Iris straddled him and said, “Now why did you have to do that, and show me your good parts?” She took his shorts and threw them back on the floor.

“It _is_ a Sunday afternoon,” he said, grinning. Then his arms went around her under his shirt. She rested her head on his shoulder, then sat up, brought her hands to his cheeks and placed her mouth on his. It had started sweet but then she went for his tongue and she slowly pushed him on his back, still straddling him. His hands went for her ass. “Loving your butt,” he said, watching her and kneading her ass. She sat up straight and rolled her hips over his groin and ran her hands up his arms then sliding her arms under his, to his shoulders, her body gently lowering to his, his shirt open, her plump breasts pressed against his chest. Then his arms came up and he held her as she lay on his chest. She said quietly, not sure if he could hear her, “Barry, you’re my one, my only.” He said, just as softly, “I love you, too.”

Six months ago, they had come back from the cabin. They spent the first week back at Joe’s, which was sounding strange to them—Joe’s, not their home anymore, because the first day back from running away in order to find each other, Barry showed Iris the loft. Within days, both their names were on the lease. The first night back to the West’s house though, they had to talk to her father, his foster dad. The three of them sat around the dining room table for hours, confessing, getting things straight, apologizing, sorting things out, in an eerily quiet and serious atmosphere, maybe because, things were serious.

Finally, Barry said, “We’re waiting for the papers from the court. Those papers will say that the marriage has been annulled and that Iris is free….”

“…to marry Barry,” Iris butted in. It had been a long first day back from the cabin for them all. They all went to work, they all walked around silent colleagues, long, curious, but silent stares, some unaware but hanging mouths, but they made it to the evening.

“It was important to us to go back to work. We did nothing wrong,” Barry said, his words hanging in a silence for a while. Then Joe said in that silence, “Do you believe that, Iris?”

“Dad, what could I do? I loved Barry, and Eddie knew it. What did you want me to do? Be unhappy? Or cheat in a few years? No. This is better. For us, and for Eddie.”

They talked that way and straightened it out as much as they could. Finally, Joe said, “I’m tired and I’m going to bed.” They all agreed, they were worn down and tired by the stress of that day and needed a good night’s sleep. As they got up from the table, and walked out of the room, they all started up the stairs together and Joe hesitated in his steps because he was still discovering how permanently his house and his family had changed. Iris went up the stairs with Barry. He took the stairs slowly, watching Iris enter Barry’s bedroom.” He almost said, “What the hell is going on,” but he stilled his tongue knowing what was going on, and as Barry closed Iris up in the bedroom with him, there was something more mature in his face, still clean shaven, still youthful in his face, but something more experienced, worldly, a mix of defeats and triumphs in his face, and Joe said to himself, “I like his look,” even as he closed Iris up in the bedroom with him.

During the middle of that night, when Joe was coming out of the bathroom, he saw a light still on in Barry’s room. He went to the door and tapped lightly because Barry could not sleep with the light on. He quietly opened the door and peered into the room and there they were, stretched out on Barry’s bed, fast asleep, lying on top of the comforter, clothes still on, arms around each other, Iris’s head in the nook under Barry’s chin, her head resting near his throat, each breathing sweetly, they with their own little versions of quiet snores. Joe turned off the light, as if he had just put his children to bed and quietly left their darkened room. That was the first day back from the cabin, but the first Sunday afternoon in Barry’s bedroom was different.

It was amazing how easy Iris had taken to his bed. For years, she had avoided his room, her best friend, who was getting bigger, taller, voice getting deeper. It was amazing how, one day she was taller than him and the next, he was all arms and legs and he filled his bedroom doorway, and she found herself looking up at him. A few times they were both daring and she came into his room and tentatively sat down on his bed, her hand feeling his soft comforter. He stayed at his desk and they talked like that, across the room. Then he started getting into a groove of explaining his posters and the philosophers, the scientists or physicists staring out at Iris, or their famous quotes, or their formulas that changed the world, maybe even the universe. She tried to keep up, she was interested because she was interested in him, but eventually her suppressed response to his impromptu lecture rebelled and all Iris could do was to bring her hand up to her mouth to cover her yawn. He rushed to sit beside her then, and they talked music, because they both knew the music of their generation and what was good, and what was popular, and they started recommending this song, or that artist, and they grabbed each other’s hands almost simultaneously without even knowing it, thanking each other for the music gossip and titles, and then suddenly it dawned on them that she was leaning on him and he was holding her hand as they both peered onto his iPhone to read his playlist as he sat beside her on his bed. They looked up and watched each other, without a smile, just their direct gaze in the knowledge that they were attracted to each other. The problem was, they were a year older since the floor incident and Barry was not a virgin anymore, and knew, when a girl likes you, and you like her, _because_ she likes you, how to make things go from warm, to hot, to being in a lot of trouble, or simply, just not being a virgin anymore.

They were kids then, but on this Sunday afternoon they were into a week of getting comfortable as grown man Barry shared high school Barry’s bed with the love of both of their lives, Iris West. They had survived their first day back on their jobs without incidents. It was easier for Iris but it was going to be a tad touch and go at CCPD, because a man doesn’t like it when you take his girl, or take his wife. He was just going to be ready for anything, or anybody wanting to come at him to rock and roll, as it was put to him. But Eddie Thawne had not been seen at CCPD and the story was that he had transferred to Keystone PD.

By that Sunday afternoon she was familiar with his bed sheets, his blankets, bedspread, pillows, all with Barry’s beautiful familiar scent, and as she lay beside him that Sunday it was obvious that she was leaving in his bed her scents, as he said, cuddling up to her, “You smell so good.” And they tried not to, but they snickered a little when they heard her father quietly leave the house, get in his car, and drive off. Iris sat up and watched his car take off down the street, then she got back under the covers with Barry. He said, “How long do you think we have?” They both tried not to giggle, but it was impossible so they did, and Iris said, “You know he’s going to call before he comes back. You know he doesn’t want to—”

Barry said, “Get in your business?” They both laughed until Iris said, laughing still, “Stop, Bear. He’s trying.” And they knew that the father knew that Iris had stayed out all night with Eddie Thawne, had slept with Eddie Thawne, had even married Eddie Thawne—and Barry would say _‘barely_ married Thawne.’ But the difference here was, it was with a young man that her father cared about, and didn’t want either one of them to make trouble for the other. But as Barry made Iris comfortable in his bed at the West’s house, it was clear Joe had stopped worrying.

She was still lying on his chest when she said, “Those were some days.”

He said, “Yeah,” quietly. Then she squeezed him playfully around the waist. “But I liked that Sunday,” and she could tell that he was smiling. “Yeah, we had all day.”

“It helped that my dad left the house,” and Barry laughed softly, reflectively, then sighed. “Yeah,” he said again, “We put him through it, but there was no other way.”

She pressed her mouth against his chest, then closed her eyes, but opened them, and said, “There’s still some day left.”

Finally, they both stirred. Maybe they were going to get up. The afternoon was sunny now and almost at its end, but they had time. Iris stared out of the window. She said, “Next week will be our sixth month wedding anniversary.” Barry came out of his contented silence and laughed some. “You’re going to hold me to months, just when I made a commitment to myself to get the years right.”

She said quietly, “Don’t front. You knew it, too.”

His laugh was soft, quiet. “Busted,” he said. Then he said, “Iris, I know how many _days….”_

She shushed him, and said, “I know you do.” And they promised to get up, the afternoon might be ending but they could look forward to the evening. Yeah, they sure could. Yes, just a few minutes more to hold each other. After all, it was a Sunday afternoon.


End file.
